It’s a story I’ve told a fair few times among friends and colleagues. But sharing it with a wider audience... well, fair to say, I’ve been reluctant.

Reluctant because the scorpion – which put a slight dampener on my summer holiday in the heart of Spain – set off a chain reaction that left myself minus one body part.

On my return, still feeling the after-effects, I discussed the matter with my doctor, John McGrath.

He took a simple blood test. One week later Dr McGrath informed me the sting had caused no lasting damage.

However, the amount of prostate specific antigen (PSA) in my blood – a protein produced by normal cells in the prostate, but also by prostate cancer cells – was higher than the norm of 3ng/ml for a man of 53.

I was a little alarmed, but not unduly as around three quarters of men with a raised PSA level don’t have prostate cancer.

However, as longevity isn’t the strongest characteristic of the Jones clan I wanted to be tested to the max.

There was the usual, fearful, finger test, a talk through what could lay ahead with a consultant, an MRI scan and then, news that stops your life in an instant.

There IS something there.

Next step a biopsy. ­Uncomfortable, unpleasant but necessary. A couple of weeks later, I was anxiously waiting to hear the prognosis.

And so I found myself sitting with Mr Bijan Khoubehi, a surgeon of the calibre of wonder striker Lionel Messi. Calm and impressive, he talked me through how he would cut a number of small holes in my stomach and remove my prostate using robotic instruments.

Mr Khoubehi informed Mrs Jones there would be no more Jones progeny (we have two children), with the prostate – and my sperm – disappearing forever.

Scary: Mr Jones is now awaiting surgery

This news wasn’t entirely unwelcome to Mrs Jones.

The potential side effects are words no bloke wants to hear, incontinence and erectile dysfunction.

Mr Khoubehi explained that precision in cutting without harming the nerve bundles necessary for an erection is imperative, and I nodded attentively.

I reached for my diary.

“Can we pencil in the op?” I said. “I don’t know about you, but the sooner the better for me.”